Of Prawnlings And Paint
by Sweetly-Sadistic's-Romanticide
Summary: I guess this is an alt-univ story, sort of. Van Der Merwe takes Oliver to child services as threatened. Now Christopher must work with his son's case worker and foster mother, Izzie, to get him back. Oliver doesn't make it very easy for either of them.
1. Chapter 1

Izzie really had no idea as to what she had been thinking before; absolutely no bleeding clue. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen hundreds of them coming through her office and duly sent to foster families. It wasn't as if she suddenly discovered her consciousness again and felt obligated to take one in. Despite working for the Child Services Department of MNU, she had herself fostered two before but this one was proving to be much more difficult and complicated.

At the thought, the woman glanced to her left to see what the little prawn was up to in the passenger seat. Due to his small size, the child had an alien designed booster seat and had a nice view of the world speeding by. And boy, did he love to do that and ignore her, Izzie grumbled internally. The child had barely acknowledged her except for small responses, laden with sadness. A newly bought toy car sat across his spindly legs, one small clawed hand idly scratching across the shiny surface.

Licking her lips, Izzie contemplated when she should tell Oliver of the upcoming visit. It had almost been a week since she decided to foster him and after the first few days she had come to the realization that the only way this was going to be pleasant was if the parent gained visiting rights. Oliver missed the older prawn, that much was certain and she did want to accommodate him. It hadn't been that hard to accomplish, considering she worked the department herself.

"Oliver, did you have fun at the care center today?" Izzie asked a bit too cheerfully as she pulled up to a stoplight. The world burned a pretty, faded sepia in the dying orange sunlight. Fields stretched ahead, swaying with tall, blonde autumn grasses, half hiding the farmhouses and ranches within them.

"Yes," the little prawn clicked dully, the blue of his eyes bored and placated. Silence reigned uncomfortably as the light turned and they drove through to the country lane. The city of Johannesburg glittered with its city lights and echoed with sounds of casual calamity behind them, fading into obscurity. Izzie silently sent a fly away thanks to God for her income and being able to live outside of the city.

"I have a surprise for you, Oliver," the woman finally announced as they rumbled along the somewhat neglected road. The child looked up in vague curiosity, antennae twitching in surprise. Izzie risked a glance down at him and smiled briefly. "I pulled a few strings at work and managed to get visiting days with your father. That'll be fun, yeah?"

The little insect didn't react for a few moments before an excited chirp escaped him and he shifted to face her in the seat. Well, that was an improvement right there. He was at least turned toward her now.

"When?" he asked excitedly, the words and clicks nearly gibberish to her. Izzie smiled and reached over enough to pat the back of his chitinous head. He seemed okay with her doing that, even if he didn't react much.

"On Friday. I set it up so that he can come visit us here twice a week. Does that sound good to you?" she questioned, knowing full well that it did. Oliver nodded quickly, his secondary arms shuffling close to his chest in excitement.

When she first started working with the aliens, Izzie had found those little limbs disturbing to say in the least. But after six years of employment, it wasn't odd at all to see his little clawed hand playing restlessly with his seat belt as his larger hands fiddled with the toy car. If prawns could smile, she was sure that he was.

Then the talking started. It was only ten minutes from the city to her house but in that ten minutes, Oliver's quick prawn language left a noticeable bruise on her brain. He was just excitable and truth be told it made her happy to see that he was. It always did. Whenever she fostered an alien child, she felt as if they needed to be happier than normal children. Perhaps it was the scattered visits to the district but she had found compassion for the little ones early. As a woman, it was only natural, she decided.

"Will he stay for the meal on Friday? Can he?" Oliver's excited chirping drew Izzie back from her contemplation of her career. Glancing at the little waif, she nodded and turned down their lane. She hid a wince at the idea however. For some reason, the older prawns were much tougher to handle, especially around mealtime.

"What do you think your father would like for dinner?" she asked brightly despite the mild sinking in her stomach. Please don't say the spaghetti, please, please don't say the spaghetti. She didn't think she could handle an adult prawn slurping her favorite dish down in front of her. At least the children played with the forks.

"The meat and potatoes and the…the…the things from the birds."

"Eggs?"

"Eggs."

Izzie tried to think of which meal that was. He had really liked that one, she remembered. As she pulled up to the front of the house, it clicked. The sausage, egg and potato scramble she had made on Tuesday. That wouldn't be horrible.

"Alright. We'll make him that," the woman conceded as she turned off the Jeep and unbuckled herself. Oliver made some soft whir of agreement and excitedly wiggled out from the booster seatbelts without undoing the buckles. "You want to help me with the groceries?"

"Yes," the prawn responded before scrambling into the back, his hard exoskeleton scraping against the old leather seats. Izzie flinched at the sound and got out to open the back hatch. The sound of their skin against fabrics was still mildly painful to her ears.

Her charge continued talking throughout the evening about his father, the clicking and chirping in his voice echoing in the kitchen nonstop. Izzie was almost exasperated with the little one but let him have it out. The little cricket was certainly making up for the past week of silence.

The human considered Oliver's case once more as she mashed together ground beef and spices for meatloaf. The prawn sat on a stool at the kitchen bar, still talking happily and crooning about the upcoming visit while watching her cook. He was definitely a cute one when he was happy.

Izzie frowned a little. Van der Merwe had signed the order for the prawnling to come to child services, noting that his previous home was unsafe for his health. After six years of working for MNU, Izzie knew that there was no safe home in the district. In addition, most of the licensed prawn children were well taken care of. The parents went through the legal paperwork and genuinely wanted their child unlike the hundreds who let their unlicensed spawn run amuck. Those were generally the types she received in her office, the abandoned prawn children that needed extended homes. As of yet, she had only fostered the licensed ones and for only a brief period of time. About half a year was the usual time for the parents to clean up and appeal their case for their child.

Looking at the still chirping waif, Izzie suffered a strange thought. What would it be like to adopt one permanently, as many had chosen to do? Not Oliver, but a prawnling that had no caring father waiting to see their child. It wasn't like she was going to have a kid of her own any time soon. Have to be dating to even have sex to get pregnant.

"Can he stay to watch a movie?" Oliver asked abruptly. His language did not quite encompassing the word 'movie' but she understood. Izzie restrained a sigh and set the meatloaf in the oven. She knew exactly which film it was to be too: Shrek. That damn American movie he had picked out at the supermarket. In the past week they had watched that movie every night before bed and it was starting to become imprinted in her brain.

"Sure."

Silence. That startled Izzie to an extent and she looked over to her charge in mild concern. The prawn still sat at the bar, his fingers fidgeting on the edge of the countertop. He looked so tiny, lost and aware with that confused, wondering expression. His expressions were easy to read considering how often they came through to her. He was an odd one, she decided, but definitely not in a bad way. The kitchen light gleamed off his marbleized green carapace and lit his blue eyes eerily as he watched her.

"Is something wrong, Oliver?" Izzie asked worriedly, not used to such a look being aimed at her. He clicked in response and continued to shyly fiddle. After a moment, he finally spoke up.

"Thank you."

It caught her off guard, to be sure. None of her other charges had ever thanked her for anything and she didn't expect it. To be blunt, her other foster children had been rather simple, easily amused and not exactly conversational. Perhaps it was because they were not raised by a loving parent as he apparently had been. When he was taken in to be cleaned up from the district, Oliver hadn't had one parasite and that almost seemed miraculous.

"For what?" Izzie replied nonchalantly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. At her question, the prawn shrugged his little shoulder in a human expression and shifted his mandibles uneasily.

"For being nice. Most humans are not nice," he replied simply. The woman gave him a faint smile before coming around the counter to him. Resting a hand on the back of his head, she sighed and shrugged.

"I know. Guess you just got lucky, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Okay now. Go wash those little claws of yours for supper," she instructed in mock severity. Oliver rolled his blue eyes in an all too human gesture before climbing off the barstool. Izzie watched him go down the hall to the guest bathroom (his bathroom), still purring and gabbing about the visit to himself.

The woman felt a groan in her chest and bit her lip. She really hoped she got along with this Christopher Johnson, especially considering how much she liked Oliver. It was always unsettling to deal with the birth parents or parent. Most responsible prawn did not like the idea of someone else caring for their child.

And the last thing Izzie wanted was a fully grown prawn disliking her.


	2. Chapter 2

"I wish you would take the escorts, Izzie," Dylan sighed in worry as he did every time she did something like this. Standing in the employee parking lot of the MNU building, the woman gave him a cross look and took another drag off her cigarette. This was routine by now but it still annoyed her. Every time she decided to foster a prawnling, her coworker Dylan would feel the need to remind her how dangerous the aliens could be. Even though he worked the same department, the persistent balding man found her to be reckless even in bringing the children into her own home.

It didn't help that the older man had confessed to affection for her. Izzie always thought she was going to hurl when he brought up this litany of worry. Too polite to tell him to bugger off, she ended up doing this every visit.

"Stop worrying, Dylan. I've been doing this for years and haven't had an accident," she reassured through the cigarette smoke. Glancing at her watch and at the high noon sun, she realized how late the crew was running. It was already one thirty in the afternoon and she had told Oliver that they'd be back before one. He hadn't called her cell yet which was good. Even though she had taught him how to call her in case of emergency, he hadn't utilized it yet.

"'Bout due for one, eh? Marcie nearly had her arm ripped off last week at a hearing for touching one of the little buggers," Dylan pressed incessantly, wiping his bald pate with a tissue. The heat was nearly unbearable in the African fall, causing sweat to stain his button up shirts pits and his back. Izzie could feel it trickling under her hair and down her neck. Putting her cigarette in her mouth, she reached up and tied up her shoulder length dark brown hair.

"If I recall correctly, she had grabbed the child's arm and tried to drag him out of the court room. She was out of line," the woman replied dryly, if not sardonically. Dylan raised a pale eyebrow at her and shaded his eyes with a flat palm.

"She nearly lost her arm, Iz. You saying she deserved it?"

Izzie gave him a critical look and put out her smoke. Leaning against her Jeep's door, she spotted the crew van pulling into the lot.

"What would you do if someone grabbed Hannah like that?" she countered offhandedly, bringing up his own flesh and blood to drive the point home. Dylan flinched at that but kept his silence. "The parent is here."

At that, her coworker gave her another exasperated, pleading grimace before trotting back to the office, his fat rolls jiggling under his thin, sweaty shirt. Izzie shuddered at that and walked off towards the parked van. Sweat was one thing she really couldn't handle from humans. It was just disgusting.

"How's it going, Iz?" Lucas hollered as he climbed out of the tall, white van. Despite wearing heavy armor and carrying a rifle, Izzie knew he wouldn't hurt a prawn on purpose. She could be stubborn and had insisted that only he escort for her. That was his one saving grace with her however. She had learned quickly that this particular armed escort was a lecher and a notorious one at that.

"Going good, Lucas. You running the night shift tonight for me?" she asked unnecessarily as she approached. The tall, native African nodded with an annoyed frown, his dark brow creasing in the afternoon sun.

"Yeah, I'll be here to pick him up. He's a quiet one so far," Lucas informed her as he went around to the back to unlock it. Coming to stand next to him, Izzie felt his eyes roam over her as he opened the back doors. "You sure you don't want company. These guys can be dangerous."

"Only to idiots," she replied dryly. The man's vision returned to his job and for that she was glad. It wasn't that she felt unattractive, even at the age of thirty two, it was just that lechers pissed her off. Thus Dylan and Lucas were on that 'I will put up with you but you aren't getting any' list.

Finally, an adult prawn stepped into the harsh sunlight from the hot confines of the van. Looking about intently (probably for his child), he approached Izzie slowly and gingerly. He was different from the usual prawns she had met, just as Oliver was. He shared the deep, slightly dirty green shell as his son but his eyes were of a molten ember color instead of blue. The ridges in his carapace were not as jagged or spiky as most other prawns she had met and that rather surprised her as it had with Oliver. As always, Izzie felt intimidated by his immense size and height but quickly got over it.

"Mr. Johnson? My name is Izzie Mason, Oliver's foster parent," she introduced herself politely and held out a hand. Normally the expression puzzled prawns but Christopher grasped her appendage readily and gave it a firm shake. The deep seated worry in his eyes and the nervous, harried air about him made it clear that his thoughts were on his child and not the formalities. Izzie gave an almost unnoticeable shiver at the padded, thick feeling of his large, fleshy hand. It was so different from humans.

"Where is my son?" the prawn inquired in barely constrained stress. Christopher's voice was a bit deeper than the general alien's and much more cultivated. Izzie felt her curiosity creep up at that. These two were odd and it was intriguing.

"Back at my home, cleaning his room, I hope. We're going now to see him," the woman reassured him before turning to lead the way to her Jeep. "Lucas, we'll be seeing you later tonight!"

"Right, boss. Be careful, yeah?" the black man called back from the front of the office. Izzie nodded to him and rolled her eyes.

The ride through Johannesburg to the outskirts was silent to say in the least. Christopher sat, albeit uncomfortably, and mutely looked ahead. Despite how awkward it made the drive, Izzie was glad to see him so anxious to see his child. Last adult she brought to her house had ripped off the passenger seat belt in curiosity and showed very little interest in visiting with his child, James. Of course, that had been James's third time through the foster system.

"Has Oliver been behaving?" Christopher clicked suddenly, startling her. Izzie turned a bit to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yes. He's been very good actually," she replied before laughing a small chuckle. "Been very excited the last few days as well. He kept talking about you, Mr. Johnson."

"Did he? What did he say?" the older prawn replied in what would have been a nonchalant manner. She caught that but decided not to push it.

"The usual things kids talk about. He said your very smart and you would love this and that," the woman replied as they paused at the same stop light to the country outskirts. "He has a lot of things to show you."

Christopher gave her a confused look and she readily explained.

"I gave him his own room and bought him some toys. He's been cataloguing them for when you arrive."

A trill sound came from the prawn which she recognized as a deep chuckle. Glancing over discreetly, Izzie noticed that he had relaxed to an extent as they drove. Perhaps it was her mannerism or the fact that there was no gun pointed at his forehead but he seemed a bit more receptive to conversation.

"How many children have you fostered, Miss Mason?" the alien asked curiously.

"Oliver is my third. Before him was James and Logan. I've been working in child services for over six years now."

A worried expression passed over the older prawn's features and he clicked in discontent before asking the question that bothered him.

"What happened to the other two?"

Izzie gave him a mildly surprised look before focusing back on the road. He was much more intelligent than the others. Perhaps he was the only one not afraid to show it or was unable to hide it but she had never had such an inquisitive parent.

"They were returned to their parents. Once the charges were cleaned up and the court case was addressed, the kids went back home. Logan comes to visit me sometimes. He's sort of big now," she laughed a bit in memory of his last visit. The prawnling had grown over four feet since she had seen him. Excited at his growth, Logan had picked her up around the waist to show off. Unfortunately, he had lifted her into the ceiling fan and gave her a decent clonk on the side of the head.

Christopher gave a melancholic, soft hum in response before looking out the window at the fields of golden grass. Izzie watched him for a moment as she turned into the driveway.

"Don't worry. Oliver will come home to you soon enough," she reassured bracingly. Putting it into park in front of her house, Izzie looked to Christopher to find him gazing at her with a most unfathomable, pained expression she had ever seen. As quickly as she saw it, it disappeared, replaced by an anxiousness. "Here we are, Mr. Johnson."

The sound of scurrying feet greeted them the moment the front door was open. Moving aside quickly in the entrance, Izzie barely avoided being run over by Oliver as he rushed to his parent.

"Father! Father!" the little prawnling squealed and chirped ecstatically as he was scooped up. Christopher brought his son to his chest and embraced him with both sets of arms, purring deep in his chest. Gently but firmly he ran his clawed hand over Oliver's antennae and pressed them back down his neck in affection. "I missed you!"

Izzie grinned a bit at the happy moment, pleased at the genuine affection between the two. After a moment of the child's contented gurgling and his father's purring, she grew a bit uncomfortable with intruding.

Withdrawing to the living room and giving them privacy, the woman noted that the little bug had picked up everything off the floor. When she had left, he had been finger painting on a nest of newspaper. Not a drop of paint on the floor. She had been tempted to not give them to him after the last time a prawn had them. James had flung paint on the walls and eaten most of the canisters. Luckily, she had, had the sense to buy edible paint.

From the front hall, she could still hear them talking excitedly, well, Oliver talking excitedly. Confident now that Christopher wouldn't destroy her home as James's father had, Izzie went to the dining room to set up for dinner. It was only two but she had gotten used to Oliver's feeding schedule. He ate and went to bed fairly early, which she attributed to his parenting.

Several, drying paintings were set on a row on the long table, their colors glinting and gleaming brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. On the corner in a neat pile was the leftover paper and paint. For a moment, she stood and looked down at the little prawn's creations, amazed yet again by him. He had painted his shack in the district, his father (repeatedly) and random, pretty things like the wildflowers that grew out in the fields. A pang in her heart reached her as she looked at them. For another odd moment, she suffered the strange thought of having her own children.

The sound of the prawns feet on the wooded floor startled her as Oliver led his father to his temporary room, chattering excitedly. Gazing distantly from where she stood towards the sound, Izzie pondered whether she should join them. No, let them have their time together.

It wouldn't take the three hours till dinner to make it, she figured. What she would do for at least the next hour and a half eluded her. Restlessly, she silently picked up around the house, avoiding the back where the two were. There hadn't been any dishes to do since she taught Oliver on how to wash his and everything was straightened neatly.

Finally, Izzie found herself back in the dining room with the paints. Bored and feeling out of place, the woman sat down at a clear seat and pulled the finger paints towards her. Opening a can of green paint, she poked a finger in and brought it out for inspection. Pretty color.

For an hour or so, she sat at the table and made a messy version of Oliver's flower painting. Little bug had more talent than she had in the arts department. By the end of it, her hands were utterly stained with green, red and yellow paint, fresh and dry. Remembering that it was edible and that James had loved it for some reason, she absently brought it to her mouth and tasted it.

"Blech," she spat in disgust, her tongue hanging out with the paint. That was foul; it was like Play-do and gasoline mixed together. She really shouldn't have trusted the taste of a creature who loved cat food.

"Ew, ew, ew, ew," Izzie repeated with a mouthful of paper towel as she attempted wiping it off her tongue. A whir of a chuckle drew her attention towards the entryway. Mouth still stuffed with green stained paper towel, the woman's expression blanched as she spotted Christopher standing there with Oliver in his arms.

The older prawn's expression was bemused and alarmed to say in the least but Oliver's just looked entertained.

"Miss Mason, why are you eating the paints?" the little alien asked curiously, a chirp of laughter coming through. Izzie hurriedly dabbed out the rest of it and cleared her throat.

"I wasn't. Just curious, is all," she replied in embarrassment as she stood. "Did you show your father your room?"

"Yes. He liked my toys," Oliver replied eagerly. Spotting the dried pictures he had painted, the little one squirmed to get down. Christopher wore a strange expression as he let his son down.

"They look expensive," he commented awkwardly, his face tendrils shifting as he spoke. Izzie waved it off and gave him a half-assed smile.

"Yeah, well, I like toys and he happened to be around to share them with," she replied noncommittally. That earned what would have been a smirk from Christopher, his amber eyes gleaming in the sunlight.

Oliver scrambled up one of the chairs, standing on the seat to reach his paintings. Gathering them up in his claws, he turned and held them out to his father.

"Miss Mason lets me paint all the time. I drew these for you," he clicked with all of a child's excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Christopher took the papers and looked at them in amusement and pride. Once he was finished with one he handed it down to his secondary hands to hold, taking his time to look them over thoroughly. Finally he gathered them back together and reached out to pet Oliver's antennae back in affection.

"They are very good, little one. Well done," he purred gently. Chirping at the attention, the prawnling clambered off the chair and grasped Izzie's hand to her shock. He had never willingly taken her hand before.

"Can we make dinner now?" he asked imploringly, his big brilliant blue eyes pleading with her. Nodding mutely, the woman let her lead him to the kitchen.

"You want to help with potatoes?" she asked bemusedly. Oliver nodded before letting go to collect them from the pantry.

Going to the entryway closet, Izzie grabbed the stepladder for the little bug and spotted Christopher when she turned back. He was still standing in the dining room, one hand touching her messy painting on the table. The room barely seemed big enough for him, considering how tall he was and how broad his upper body was. The mandibles moved slightly as he inspected her painting of the fields as if he was thinking intently.

"Mr. Johnson, would you like to come sit with us while we make supper?" Izzie said a bit loudly as she walked into the dining room towards the kitchen. Christopher jumped at that and snapped his thick fingers from the painting, looking to her in mild wariness. It was a reaction to humans for prawns, she knew and couldn't blame them for it.

The adult nodded silently and followed her into the moderately sized kitchen. She pulled out the stool from the bar for him and indicated that he could settle there. Oliver had hefted out the sack of potatoes and was waiting patiently by the sink for the step ladder. He was a good kid, she realized, and he seemed to be a very attentive parent. She was going to have to fight for this case and get him back home soon.

Oliver continued chattering the entire afternoon as he cleaned and sliced potatoes about the care center he went to during the day with the other prawn children. Christopher asked few questions, content to listen to his son ramble on about having outside time in the fields behind the house.

Izzie kept her silence for the most part as she sliced the sausage, garlic and onions for the scramble. Normally, it was her that filled the conversation with the child and parent but with these two she wasn't exactly necessary. It was bemusing and pleasing to see how close the pair were. It almost made her jealous of their bond.

Several times as they were cooking, Izzie felt Christopher's liquid gold eyes on her in contemplation. It made her mildly uncomfortable and after a while she realized what it was. He looked to her in more than curiosity or hostility as the other prawns had. There was a deeper intelligence in this one than she had ever encountered and it intimidated her to an extent.

Near the end of the preparation, Izzie sent Oliver to go wash his hands. Turning down the temperature on the stove, the woman leaned against the counter and gazed at the adult prawn at the bar.

"I feel like you have questions for me, Mr. Johnson," she stated simply. Christopher started at that in surprise before clicking in the affirmative. A bit nervously, he played with a scented candle that sat within reach, turning it on the counter. After a moment, he looked back to her and breathed an agitated breath through his throat slits.

"You've taken very good care of my son. I do not know how to thank you," he finally replied, his low voice warbling a bit. Izzie waved off that.

"Oliver's been a pleasure to have around for the most part. And I volunteered to take him home so there's no need to thank me," she reassured briskly. Christopher's amber eyes narrowed a bit and he made a sound of concern in his chest.

"Why did you volunteer to? Why have you taken care of _my _son?" the alien pressed politely. "You work for the child services but you are not required to foster the children."

Izzie had a feeling that he wanted to ask her that. He was much quicker and much more thoughtful than the other prawns she had met. Heaving a sigh through her nose, Izzie folded her arms over her stomach and considered him.

"To be honest, I like the children. They're sweet once you get past our differences and I like making them happy," she replied bluntly. He gave her a stare that said she didn't answer his question fully. "I don't know why I chose to foster Oliver. He came in, scared and frightened like the others but I just felt like I had to."

"Did you feel like that with James and Logan?" Christopher whirred. Izzie wondered at the fact that she was holding a conversation longer than a few sentences with a prawn and found it palatable.

"Sort of. They were a bit more crazy than Oliver though. But they both are much better off than they were before."

Izzie went silent for a moment before continuing.

"I think I have a lot to thank you for, for Oliver, eh? You're son is the best behaved child I've ever seen come through my office. And he's so very intelligent that I couldn't imagine him going to someone else," she paused at the puzzled, almost alarmed expression Christopher gave. "Quite a bit of the foster parents only take the children for the federal funding. Its hard to catch it but they can be neglectful of them."

"Then Oliver is lucky to have caught your attention," Christopher finished thankfully. Izzie smiled slightly and shrugged before turning to the skillet. Flipping the mess of potatoes, eggs and sausage about, the woman thought of something to turn the conversation.

"Your son said you'd like this. Have you ever had eggs or sausage before?" she asked lightly. Christopher settled back in his seat in confusion, his prehensile hands fidgeting slightly.

"No. I have heard of them but such things do not come through the district."

"I know. I've been spoiling him a bit with different things so I might as well do the same for you while you're here."

At that moment, Oliver came bounding back in from eavesdropping in the hallway to drag his father to wash his claws. Izzie laughed a bit at the younger prawns instructions as they echoed from the bathroom. Serving three plates with the scramble, she took them to the dining room along with forks and metal cups. She had learned quickly that glass is not something to give to the powerful creatures.

She had just set down random condiments, shredded cheese and toast when the two returned, clean and ready for the meal.

"Sit next to me, father," Oliver requested immediately after settling into his booster seat across from Izzie. In a couple more years, he wouldn't need it. Uneasy, the adult prawn sat down and looked to his son and the woman warily.

Giving him a bracing smile, Izzie stood to pour milk for them and offer the cheese. When she first fostered Logan, she had discovered that the alien's craving for high protein foods and drinks went way beyond meat and cat food. The little guy wouldn't drink anything beyond the calcium enriched milk and every meal had to have enormous amounts of meat. Thus, her breakfast scramble was more sausage and egg than potato.

Much to Christopher's seeming relief, Oliver helped pick and choose what went with the meal, chattering about how they taste all the while. When it came to eating, they didn't end up using the forks but ate with their fingers. At least they were cleanly about it, she supposed. Smothering a snort, she remembered giving James his first bowl of beef and barley soup. The little guy went in head first and had beef bullion in between his plating for days.


	3. Chapter 3

During the movie, Oliver fell asleep, curled up in his father's arms and cooing in contentment. Izzie sat in her big, squishy chair with a newspaper, legs flung over the arm. Night had fallen outside and the crickets sang their end of the summer song incessantly. Next to her sat a lamp, its light casting a warm golden glow about the room. By this point, the woman had learned to tune out the annoying movie and enjoy her newspaper.

Christopher's visiting hours were almost up. Within the next hour they would need to take him back to MNU Headquarters to meet up with Lucas. He would be back by Tuesday for another afternoon visit.

"Mr. Johnson," Izzie finally said a bit sharply. Chris started from a light snooze and turned a bit to look at her. It had seemed like such a long time since he had fallen asleep with his son in his arms and even if it was only for a few hours a week, he was enjoying it.

"Yes?" he clicked quietly, trying not to awaken Oliver. Izzie swung her legs (lol, it originally said 'lungs' ) off the arm of the chair and settled her newspaper aside. Resting her elbows on her knees, she looked at the prawn intently before asking her question.

"Why was Oliver taken away? The report said it was due to an unhealthy environment but I don't see myself believing that," she stated in blunt honesty. The alien silently considered her, his tendrils and mandibles moving in quiet agitation through the low murmur in his throat.

"I refused to sign the eviction notice MNU was giving me."

Izzie studied him intently for a lie before nodding in understanding. She knew MNU was dirty, she knew but was not about to leave. What good would quitting do but leave more prawn children in the hands of the uncaring?

"I understand that the eviction to District 10 has been put off for now. If you want I will come by your home and help get it to regulation standards."

That seemed to put Christopher in complete confusion. Shifting slightly to settle Oliver against his chest plating more comfortably, the prawn gave her a depthless look. The lights from the television played on one side of him, the side in shadows, and highlighted the ridges of his carapace sporadically. The other half was lit in the lamps light, gleaming a darker green. He was not ugly by any means in prawn standards, she knew. Izzie had been around them enough to recognize handsome in the adults and definitely recognize how adorable the children are.

"You would do that?" he clicked in muted amazement. Izzie shrugged off handedly.

"Its part of my job. Besides, from what I've seen in Oliver and in you so far, he doesn't need to be here with me. I think he is fine to be at home with you but we have to be able to convince the court and the investigators of that," she replied simply as she stood and stretched. The other's eyes seemed to light up with some inner, ember vibrancy at that and he offered her a nod.

"I would be thankful for the help."

Christopher was a bit more intense than she was accustomed to when it came to prawns. Instead of just unsettling her, it unsettled her and made her forget who she was talking to. It was hard to grasp her real perception of it and it rather frustrated her.

"We need to head back. Lucas'll be there in a half hour," she informed him through another sighing stretch that popped her lower spine. That seemed to startle and worry the alien to an extent, making him click in an unsettled way. Right, skeleton on the outside, she forgot. Their bodies don't pop like the pieces were disconnected.

Almost languidly, Christopher stood with his son, his movement liquid and balanced. Oliver didn't even sigh or register that his bed had moved.

"I will put Oliver to bed then," the older prawn said before turning to go down the hallway. Izzie shook her head and moved to get her keys.

"Nah, bring him with us. He can stay up a little late tonight," she suggested with a mouth gaping yawn. Once more, the movement seemed to disturb him as he stood in the entryway. She constantly forgot how different they really were and how strange human actions were. "Little bug'll never forgive me if he didn't get to come drop you off."

Christopher seemed to smirk again at her teasing, affectionate nickname for his son. Patiently, he waited while she collected her keys and his stack of drawings off the table. After struggling into the heels she had left in there again, Izzie contemplated the lone painting on the table: her slap job attempt at wildflowers in a field. After a moment of thought, she picked it up and tucked it in with the rest of the papers.

"Thank you for coming today. I haven't seen Oliver so happy before," the woman murmured gratefully as she locked the front door in the moonlight. For some reason it felt more of a hazard to turn on the porch light out in the country than to leave it off. When she finished and turned, she received an odd look from Christopher.

"Of course I came. Why wouldn't I?" he clicked, almost offended. Izzie shook her head to discourage the line of thought and opened the back seat of her Jeep.

"I wasn't trying to imply…alright, I was startled at how well it went today. The fact you were there for me to pick up was surprising," she attempted to explain as she buckled the booster seat in the middle of the back row. Glancing at him while she worked, she got the feeling she wasn't getting through the way she wanted to. Settling on the seat, she held her arms out for Oliver.

"I've dealt with parents for a long time and most of the time, they don't show up for the visits. They're too scared of humans and our environment. You showed up and you did not panic or become aggressive as parents usually do," she explained a bit sadly as the prawn transferred his son to her hands. The prawnling really didn't weigh much, perhaps as much as a bulky two year old.

Christopher watched her intently as she woke him up gently and set him in the booster seat. Oliver's large blue eyes blinked blearily in half sleep as he attempted waking up. Izzie had trouble trying to get him to put his arms through the safety straps since he was so sleepy. It amused the alien to watch her try as tenderly as possible to bend his arm without waking him too much. She was as gentle as any prawn parent and he found it comforting that she was his son's caregiver and lawyer, essentially.

On Izzie's part, she was rather self conscious at the alien's staring. She anticipated wariness and possibly even mild agitation at her handling his child. Logan's father had not liked it at all when she had taken his hand to leave the visit. But Christopher wasn't angry of course; she could feel it. He just seemed to like watching her and it made her vaguely uncomfortable.

"He'll be wide awake by the time we get there," Izzie sighed as she clambered back out of the seat. She gave a hopeless grin. "It'll take forever for him to calm down enough to go to sleep again."

Closing the door, the woman turned to head around to her door and stopped. Christopher stood next to her, fumbling with an inner pocket in his tattered, red vest. In the back of her mind, she noted that perhaps he would like another one that wasn't held up with duct tape.

"Here. He likes to sleep to this," the prawn suggested, his voice almost a purr from how low he kept it. Izzie held out her hand for whatever it was. He set it in her open palm, the long, padded tips of his fingers brushing her skin. The woman stared at it for a good few moments and felt like she was going to cry. It was a rotating music box for a baby mobile. There was even a little bumblebee painted on the side from Winnie The Pooh.

The simple similarity of comfort between species made the woman from child services want to cry. She had never heard of nor seen a prawn parent play music for their offspring as a method to sleep. Izzie was not an emotional woman in any sense but somehow the silly little music box made her want to cry.

Christopher made a confused, concerned warble of clicks at her reaction. Sniffling abruptly and looking up in embarrassment, the woman gave him a smile and nodded briskly.

"I'll set it up in his room for him. He'll sleep a lot better with something from home."

The parent nodded slightly in agreement, his long sensitive antennae picking up the distressing happy sadness that was quivering from her. After a moment, he offered another little piece of help before getting in the Jeep.

"He doesn't like to sleep alone yet. He will go to sleep early but he will wake up if he's alone for too long. Check in on him for me, during the night."

Izzie couldn't respond to that one except a nod. This was turning out to be much more complicated than she anticipated.

Christopher's advice proved to be useful to Izzie the following Wednesday night. The evening before, the adult had come for a visit, spending all afternoon and most of the evening with them on a trip into the fields around the house. For the most part, Izzie had thought it had gone quite well. Wednesday morning dawned and Oliver looked much less rested than before and she had attributed it to too much excitement. Now, at two-thirty in the morning, she was sure that it wasn't overexcitement.

The sound of his muffled whimpering came through the walls to her sleeping ears and awoken her. For a good moment, Izzie wasn't sure of what the sound actually was. In her tired mind she couldn't grasp the possibility of a child crying in her house except perhaps for a ghost. Then she remembered Oliver.

It struck her as funny that she didn't realize that prawns could cry out in their sleep, in the dark of night as humans do. Groaning in exhaustion, Izzie flung off her covers and swung her feet to the cold, wooden floor. At the sound of her muttered grumbling, Oliver's crying ceased to a quiet sigh like warble.

"Oliver? Oliver, are you okay, love?" the woman called softly as she tread down the hall to his ajar door. Turning on the slightly blinding hall light, she peered into the bedroom. A low, toddler sized bed sat in the far corner, accompanied by a table and lamp. A small desk with an alien fashioned seat rested under the large window next to an overstuffed toy box. And at the foot of the bed, under the covers, lay a small ball of quivering whimpers.

"Oliver? Hey, little bug, what's wrong?" Izzie murmured tiredly as she came in and went to the bed. The mound moved and the prawnling pulled the blankets off his head, antennae snagging a little on them. Vaguely, she wondered if they really needed the things. Large, sad eyes peered up at her, followed by a low whine of clicks.

"I miss home. I miss Father," the child chirped quietly, his gaze lowering to the crumbled blankets. Izzie uttered a sympathetic sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, cuddling her flannel pajamas around her for warmth.

"I know. I know you do. You'll be home soon," she reassured softly. Oliver gave her a too adult look of disbelief and she cringed a little. "Your father and I are working on it together." He continued to look at her with the same expression, his mandibles shifting tiredly. After a moment, he nodded slightly and looked back down, his wisp thin antennas twitching. Izzie bit her lip in thought before remembering what Christopher had given her in case of such an occurrence.

"Hold on."

Getting up, she half trotted to her room. Grabbing the mobile off her vanity, Izzie ran back, eager to get the little guy back to sleep.

"Here we go. A piece of home, yeah?" she said as she began twisting the knob on the back to wind it up. The prawn glanced up to see it and immediately he gave a little chortling coo and his blue eyes lit up. Eagerly, he held his claws up to take it. "This'll help you sleep."

"Yes. Thank you," Oliver clicked a bit more happily. Taking the music box, he tucked it into the blankets and promptly buried himself along with it. Izzie smiled at the soft, bell lullaby and patted the prawn-sized lump in the bed.

The sweet, familiar melody 'Wish Upon A Star' followed her all the way down the hall to her bed and into her sleep.

"No, Mrs. De Wilde, I cannot send over a priest for that," Izzie growled irritably into the phone, trying hard to not loose her temper with the super-religious foster parent. She had been caring for the abandoned prawn children since the ship arrived but somehow she was still afraid of them. Why she volunteered to care for the little guys was beyond Izzie but that really wasn't her department to decide. "No, I am sure its just a gang sign he picked up from somewhere, nothing voodoo about it."

She paused as the other hysterical woman spoke frantically. As the nut job on the other end continued to panic, Izzie leaned back in her chair and put her heels up on the desk and played with the mild wrinkles in her business pants.

"Mrs. De Wilde, you know as well as I do that the clicking is part of their language; he's not speaking tongues."

As the woman continued to sob and pray on the line, Izzie spotted a random, nameless intern walk in with a stack of papers for her inbox. She put up a finger for her to wait for an errand and sighed. This woman was on her last nerve. The intern looked vaguely annoyed and unappreciative at the way she held her up, but Izzie couldn't find herself caring. She knew she came off as a workaholic bitch and that was fine for her.

"I cannot do as you ask due to company policies. Exorcisms are entirely upon you. Good day, Mrs. De Wilde," Izzie finished with probably more exasperation than necessary. Rubbing a finger and thumb over her eyes, she hung up and hefted her legs off the desk.

"Can you have Roger Jackson removed from Mrs. De Wilde's care? She thinks they're trying to possess her again," she requested tiredly before going through the papers the intern had brought it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the other woman turning to leave. "Hold on. Also, can you please, please, please, beg the Screening Department to remove her from the listing?"

The intern nodded her head a bit grumpily and headed out, name tag bouncing on her chest. Izzie glanced up to watch the woman saunter away and snorted. Only the younger employees wore them there to draw attention to their cleavage.

As she stood to leave for the day, her worst nightmare walked on in.

"Hey, Iz. You heading home?" Dylan asked nonchalantly as he leaned his bulk on the cheap walling of her cubicle. Izzie snatched up her purse and coat.

"Yep."

"You doing anything? Its Friday night," the older, balding man asked in an attempt at smoothly asking her out. The woman restrained a laugh and gave him a knowing, un-amused look.

"No, I'm not. How's the divorce coming? You been working on the papers for what? Two months?" she countered a bit sharply. He flinched and pressed his lips in suppressed anger. For a moment, she felt like perhaps the mean bitch persona was a bit too much some days. "Sorry, Dylan. I just haven't been sleeping well. Oliver's-" "Who?" Dylan interrupted edgily, clearly still upset over her previous comments. Izzie rose an eyebrow at him as her computer shut down.

"The child I fostered not too long ago. He still lives with me."

"Oh, yeah, the termite. How's he doing?"

She gave him a vile glare for the name he called her foster son before stalking past towards the elevators. It was the general attitude of people here; people who thought she was too work orientated and a severe prawn-lover. If it wasn't for that glass of wine every night, she'd put a gun in her mouth.

"He's fine. Now, I've got to go pick up Mr. Johnson."

"Jesus, woman, how much of your life are you going to waste on those fucking aliens?" Dylan pressed in exasperated frustration. He pressed the down button for her in what she supposed was to be a gentlemanly gesture.

"Hopefully, all of it, if I get lucky," she replied dryly. He gave her an almost patronizing frown as he looked her over one more time, his dinghy eyes taking in the business suit and uptight bun.

"When are you going to make time for yourself? For a family? You still look good but you aren't exactly a spring chicken anymore, Iz," he jabbed in a final attempt for the day. The woman's gaze hardened as she glared at the elevator doors. On cue, they slid open and she briskly stepped into the haven from Dylan. She hit ground floor.

"Good luck with that divorce, Dylan," she stated with a hefty notch of acid in her tone as the doors slid shut. Once they did, however, Izzie fell apart a little in the solitude the elevator offered. Tears flooded her vision and a lump grew in her throat, strangling her. Sniffling stubbornly, she wiped under her eyes and prayed that her makeup didn't smudge. Clearing her throat of the knot, she reminded herself to not be hormonal. She didn't think Christopher would understand what was happening.

When the elevator doors opened again and the annoying, banal music faded away, she had herself under control.


	4. Chapter 4

"You are very quiet this afternoon, Miss Mason," the creature next to the woman in the passenger seat commented. Izzie cast him a small, hidden smile before refocusing on the road. She had rather hoped that Christopher wouldn't notice.

"I'm fine. Some jerk from the office just annoyed me," she replied lightly. "It's nothing."

The prawn made an understanding hum and kept his silence on the matter though he could sense that she was upset. His sensitive antennae picked up the vague scent of salty tears and the bitter vibration of anger. Izzie leaned over a bit as they drove over a rougher patch of asphalt so he could hear.

"I'm going to be coming into the district on Monday to start work on your home. Is that going to be an alright day?" she asked loudly over the gravelly roar of the tires. Christopher nodded to the best of his extent in acknowledgement. His antennae were inconvenient in motor vehicles and gave him rather limited head movement.

Silence reigned again as they left the rough road onto smoother dirt. The quiet used to feel awkward but now it was far more comfortable. It had been a month since Oliver moved in and the visits started. Christopher had relaxed extensively in her presence now that he had a feel for her demeanor and intentions. Not to mention, Oliver had not one bad thing to say about her minus the consistent baths.

Izzie figured that the comfortable silence would be a good time to bring up that tender subject she didn't want to discuss around Oliver.

"Mr. Johnson, I need to-"

"Christopher."

Izzie stopped mid-sentence to stare at the prawn for a moment.

"Sorry?"

"You do not have to call me Mr. Johnson, Miss Mason. Being called a human name is bad enough," the alien explained a bit gruffly. The woman gave him a bemused grin and an eyebrow raise. She should feel insulted, as a human, but she found that she didn't care.

"Really? How bad is it?"

Christopher looked up at the Jeep's ceiling in consideration before clicking a dry remark.

"It would be like me calling you a poleepkwan name."

She thought about that briefly and discovered that she really hadn't heard any true prawn names. Deciding to push back the tense conversation for later, she determined to follow this one instead.

"What's your real name?" she asked as unobtrusively as possible. The other huffed a mild sigh through his neck slits before replying in his own language. It was definitely not a name she could pronounce with her physiology. There was two clicks, a sound she could only say was a soft whistle and an almost growl-purr at the end.

"And Oliver's?"

When he said the son's name, it sounded mostly like his own except with an extra two clacks in the middle.

"Well, I am definitely going to have to call you by human names. Sorry, but my throat doesn't do that. What would my name be?"

"The equivalent of your name?"

"Well, what poleepkwan name would you give me?"

Silence met her once more as they pulled into the driveway. Izzie assumed he was merely thinking it over or that he was not going to respond. In either case, she was not going to push it. The doors opened and they stepped out into the afternoon, autumn heat. Waiting for him to round to her side, she led the way up to the front door. Just before she reached to unlock it, Christopher responded.

It sounded like a whir, a gurgle and a soft click. She played it over in her head a few times and gazed up at him. What it meant, she couldn't fathom. The prawn looked down at her in bemused thought, as if he was startled at the name he spoke as well. His prehensile hands shifted a bit and a low murmur of sound echoed from his chest. She found an expression of some exquisite meaning in his ember eyes but found that yet again, she could not decipher it.

Before she could reply, the front door unlocked from the inside and Oliver chirped a happy greeting. Immediately, the look vanished from his parent and he scooped up the prawnling.

As Christopher led the way inside, Izzie found herself repeating that damn name over and over in her head.

"Oliver, honey, are you crying again?" Izzie whispered softly as she entered his room that night. The orange glow from the nightlight on the wall illuminated the prawn child's emerald carapace from where he sat on the floor, holding the mobile music box.

"Yes," Oliver clicked in reply. He didn't even try to hide it anymore, which she took both as a good thing and a bad thing. It could mean that he had come to trust her enough to show that he was terribly sad or it could mean that he had grown depressed and simply did not care to hide it.

Heaving a yawn, Izzie came over and sat down, wrapping her thick robe about her tightly. Settling cross legged by him, she leaned enough to catch his downward gaze and gave him a bracing smile.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked seriously. She was coming to the end of her wits for a solution. Both of them were getting less and less sleep every night and she was worried that his eating habits might shift for the worst. The little guy shook his head sleepily.

"I just miss my dad."

Izzie frowned mildly at that, wondering for the umpteenth time where on earth he had picked up that title for his father. It must have been at the care center.

"How did you sleep at home? In a bed?"

"With my father. It felt safer than alone."

Sympathetically, Izzie laid her palm against the back of his head again, the chitinous skin cool in the dark. At her touch, Oliver whined sadly and moved into a crouch. The woman sat in dumb silence as he climbed into her folded lap and sighed. Never had one of her foster children showed such need for attention and affection as Oliver did and it startled her endlessly. Thanks a lot, Chris, she laughed in her mind. Blankly, she remembered what it was like when she was little and would go to her Da for a hug and reassurance whenever she needed it. What would it be like to loose that at a young age?

A bit timidly, she put her arms around the little prawn and nuzzled the top of his head lightly. He purred a bit and grasped her robe in contentment. For a little bit, she sat there, rocking and kissing the side of his head softly and petting his antennae back like she saw his father doing. It seemed to calm him down and relax him for sleep quickly. Standing up slowly and gently, she went to lay him back in bed.

"Miss Mason?" Oliver's voice clicked to her in what sounded like bashfulness. Looking down at the alien half snuggled into her robe, Izzie smiled a bit shakily.

"Yes, Oliver?"

"Can I sleep with you? I miss sleeping with dad," he admitted ashamedly. Stunned at the request, Izzie stared at him a bit blankly before nodding mutely. This one was terribly surprising and definitely pushed her boundaries in ways she hadn't expected. It seemed a simple enough request coming from a child, though.

Turning off the hall light, Izzie left her bedroom door open for him and went to the bed. Luckily, it was Saturday by now and she didn't need to be in to work in the morning. With one free arm, she pulled the heavy covers back enough to settle down. Still holding the purring Oliver to her chest, the woman shifted her legs into bed and covered up.

The prawn child squirmed a bit in her grasp to get comfortable before settling with his face pressed into her sleeping blouse. For a while, the woman from child services laid there uneasily, not sure on how to handle him. It was an awkward place to be in; suddenly realizing that you forgot how to handle the job you were trained to do.

There was no mistaking the fact that he was not human as she held him. His form was tough, hard and ridged and made that scraping sound against her sheets. She hated that sound but found some displaced humor in the fact that her skin didn't do that.

Finally, she relaxed her tensed muscles and closed her eyes, listening to the slower, steadier breathing of the alien child. It was comforting; as was the mild beating of his heart against her abdomen. As she drifted off, cuddling him to her, she pondered once more at how close we all really were.

Sweat trickled down the back of her neck as Izzie lifted a stack of dirty, spider infested cardboard sheets into the back of the MNU work truck. The gloves itched her hands roughly and the heat felt nearly unbearable in the late afternoon sun but she truly felt that she was handling it better than a high heel wearing, pencil pusher should. A cloud of acrid dust billowed up into her face from the truck and she sneezed violently. Looking down at her white wife beater shirt, she sighed at all the dirt coated on it and her arms. She was really filthy.

All around the area, she could hear the clicking and warbling of curious prawns watching as she and Christopher cleaned up around the shack. At first, she'd been wary that they'd get too close but her fears were unfounded. The other aliens seemed to leave Christopher alone as much as he seemed to ignore them.

Heaving a sigh, Izzie wiped the back of her wrist over her brow and grimaced at the sweat there. Thank God, her hair was long enough to put up in a pony tail. A sudden clatter of noise drew her attention through the wavering heat. Off at the bottom of the slight slope the shack was situated on, was Lucas, kicking around an empty can of paint. Slung loosely over a shoulder and lying docile in his hands was a rifle, more for a show of force than anything else. He might as well just go home, she figured. It wasn't as if he was a very attentive escort anyway. But policy demanded that he be there.

"Oy, Lucas! I'm going inside for a moment!" Izzie called briefly. The black skinned man nodded distantly, more intent on his game. "Be good!"

"You got it, boss."

Stepping out of the blinding sun for the cooler dark of the shack was an immense relief. Her retinas burned from the transition and she suffered a moment of complete blindness. Slowly, her vision returned and adapted to the dimmer indoors. Looking about, she found that the front room had been straightened up to an extent since she started outside.

Not that there had been much to work on. The slap-up cardboard walls were barren of any decoration with only a creaking table and a lumpy couch remaining along with a set of crumbling bookshelves. There was nothing frivolous or fetish-orientated on the shelves, just canned food and random tools. Many prawns had mockingbird syndrome and collected a collage of objects and decorated their homes. He didn't seem to suffer such a thing but she couldn't help but feel like there should be more in here.

"Christopher? Are you in here still?" Izzie called as she stripped off her gloves and laid them on the low table. The back rooms door was cracked, inched open just enough for her to see him move towards the front room.

"Yes, I was reorganizing the sleeping area," the prawn replied briskly as he entered and shut the door. Picking up her cheap water bottle from the table, the woman took a swig and sighed appreciatively.

"Can I ask you something?" Izzie asked warily as she took a seat on his sunken couch. Christopher regarded her curiously before nodding, still standing by the door. Izzie considered what she needed to ask and though it better to forewarn him.

"It's a rather personal question about Oliver. Come sit with me for a moment," she offered professionally. Despite herself, she tried to think of it as sitting in her cubicle office and discussing ill-tasting paperwork.

He hesitated, clearly unsure about sharing a seat with her. At her encouragement, he settled down as far as possible from her for her comfort. She had the vague feeling that he believed her to be uncomfortable around prawns. The weight he put on the cushions sank them both down towards the middle and she found herself leaning towards him more.

If someone were to have asked Izzie ten years ago if she had ever imagined being where she was, she would have said no. Sitting on a ratty, old couch in a slum with an alien after having worked on his yard was definitely not what her plan had been but somehow it really didn't seem so bad.

"What I need to ask is…was Oliver self-created or does he have another parent?" Izzie asked finally with as much business care as possible. She didn't want to make this feel anymore personal as it was. Christopher stayed silent for several minutes, staring intently at the opposite wall and thinking. The look of pained remembrance was printed so strongly upon his features that she figured she knew the answer.

"Oliver did have another parent."

Izzie made a sound of understanding before pushing the subject.

"Where is he?"

"Dead."

Silently, Izzie studied the creature before her and marveled at him. It was as if he himself was an alien outside of the prawns she knew and it drew her fascination and curiosity. Perhaps it was because she had never gotten to know the others as well but she found the depth to him greatly out shadowing anyone else she knew, human or otherwise. For a moment, she realized a bit of what Dylan had been saying. All she dealt with were parents of some sort and yet she herself was not one. It made her feel a bit ostracized by the fact that she had never known nor created something out of love.

"Did Oliver know him?" she pressed before she lost the resolve to discuss this. Christopher inhaled agitatedly, his powerful clawed hands clenching slightly in thought and restraint. Izzie remained calm despite the MNU's set standards of danger being broached.

"All too briefly."

"The reason I needed to ask is that Oliver was still having problems sleeping with the music box. I just wanted to know if there was anything beyond the current circumstances that could cause that," Izzie explained timidly as he turned to give her a strange look. She had put the situation in past phrase and she knew he caught that. He gazed at her for a moment, his facial tendrils moving in thought.

"Do you ask as a child service representative or as a guardian?" he countered quite seriously. Izzie pondered that for a moment before answering.

"Both, I suppose, and as a friend. I do care for Oliver a lot. Just as much as I would my own-"

"How so? You do not have any of your own," Christopher pointed out logically. Izzie restrained the urge to get upset over that and took another swig from her water bottle.

"No, I do not have any of my own. Let me ask you this instead: your people have both genders, correct?"

"Yes," the prawn replied, his clicks sounding befuddled.

"So you have urges and feelings to encompass both, right?"

"Right."

"And you know that humans only have one each?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so you understand that protective, nurturing instinct you have towards your son?"

Christopher nodded, still not sure as to where she was going with this.

"Women, well, most women, have that instinct naturally, regardless of whether or not they have children."

"Most females do?"

"Eh, yes, I like to think so. Since I've known your son, I've cared very much about him being happy. Why do you think I'm here? It certainly wasn't to visit you on work hours," she joked lightly in an attempt to change the subject.

Christopher smirked at her humor. He seemed to accept her response and went to stand up. He paused however and looked over his immense, armored shoulder to her. Izzie could see the indecision in his gold-brown eyes and gave him a questioning look. Settling back, the prawn considered her a bit longer before speaking.

"How did you get Oliver to sleep?"

Izzie weighed the pros and cons of telling the truth and figured that honesty was best when dealing with parental prawn. Besides, Oliver would eventually bring it up anyway.

"He asked to sleep with me. Since then, he's been resting through the night," she finally replied bluntly, her chin firm up a bit in anticipation for anger. Christopher smirked at that and gave a thoughtful nod.

"I had a feeling he would. He likes you."

Izzie shifted uncomfortably under the look he gave her.

"Thanks."

"Now, I have a personal question pertaining to Oliver as well," he clicked, now wary. Izzie nodded and motioned for him to ask away as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "He mentioned an odd custom that humans perform on their children that you performed on him."

Izzie carefully contained the horrified look she wanted to give him. The way he put it sounded horrible and she prayed it was something silly. She hadn't done anything untoward in human views and she hoped it was the same by prawn customs.

"He said that you put your mouth to his forehead and on his hand once from an injury. Why?" Christopher asked finally. Izzie stared at him in utter confusion before realizing what he was talking about. Once, Oliver had cut one of his fingers a little while chopping carrots for her. She had cleaned it and kissed it better without thinking about it. She had done it to her other foster children and she would do the same to human offspring as well. They must've thought she was as odd as Oliver did.

"Humans do that as a sign of affection and comfort to children," she explained uneasily. He cocked his head to the side as if he wanted to argue, antennae testing the air.

"I have seen humans do that to their mates on their mouths as well. Is it the same thing?"

Horrified, Izzie sat up a bit straighter and put out her hands to stop that train of thought in its tracks.

"No! No, an adult should never kiss a child like that. That is for mates only, or soon to be mates."

Christopher considered what she said before trying to form the word 'kiss' in his language. After a moment, he gave up and cast an almost mischievous look at her.

"Oliver had worried me when he told me about it. He thought it was funny."

"Glad I could amuse the little bug," Izzie grumbled before thinking of a better way to explain it in their terms. "Giving a kiss on the head is sort of like when you pet back his antennae. Its just parental affection."

That statement did the opposite of what she had wanted it to do. The other adult seemed mildly embarrassed and flustered by her observation. It was almost the same reaction she had given earlier.

"I did not think you knew about that. I suppose that is the equivalent of a human kiss."

"I just noticed it. I always wondered though: why do you only brush back the long ones? The shorter antennae are never touched."

Once again, her question seemed to install some mortified embarrassment in him. Fidgeting with his small arms, the prawn looked away from her intently again.

"Those are reserved for mates only."

"How come?" Izzie asked bluntly before she could stop herself. To be honest, she was just as surprised and horrified as he was. When did such things inspire her curiosity? Christopher graced her with a very harried, frustrated look.

"How come kissing on the mouth is reserved for mates?" he clicked back in mild agitation. Izzie bit her lower lip and fiddled with her damp, dirtied ponytail. So much for keeping this professional, she scolded herself.

"It's a lot more intimate, I suppose."

"So are the little antennas," Christopher whirred in a tone of finality on the subject. He added as she stood to leave, "Thank you for advising me on the 'kissing' custom. I was worried that you were doing something untoward to my son."

Izzie gave him a critical, knowing look for that one. He hadn't believed for one moment that she would really do something bad to him and she knew it.

"What is so untoward about something as silly as this?" she demanded stubbornly before turning to the prawn. What came into her head, she wasn't sure nor was she about to question it.

Since he was sitting on the couch, his head was right at her chin level. Leaning in and down slightly, she pressed her lips to the side of his head, right by his large ember eye. His hard exoskeleton was much warmer than his son's and the skin smooth in that area. It wasn't unpleasant at all, she discovered. He made a surprised whirring sound in the back of his throat at her actions.

Leaning away, Izzie folded her arms and waited for his response. Christopher gave her such a look of bemused amusement that she almost laughed.

"Nothing untoward; just strange."

"Yes, well, humans are strange, yeah?" Izzie reminded a bit tiredly. It was getting later on in the day and the physical work was taxing on her. Outside, she could hear Lucas still kicking that damn can of paint, apparently bored and in no mood to help clean.

Turning her neck, she felt it pop and sighed at the inevitable arthritis she was going to suffer. There was so much garbage that the humans just dumped wherever and it was making it increasingly difficult to keep clean. They'd have to devise a fence of some sort the next time they came out.

"Do you find our expression of affection as strange?" Christopher asked suddenly, catching her off guard. Refocusing on the previous discussion, Izzie shrugged.

"No, I guess not."

"Good," Christopher chirped in satisfaction as he stood languidly. Izzie instantly felt dwarfed by him and found that her intimidation of him had drastically reduced. She froze however when the prawn reached out slowly and deliberately to place a large, clawed hand on top of her head. For a moment, the woman stood still and blankly stared up at him in confusion. The fingers brushed firmly over her dark hair and came to a rest, cupping the back of her smaller skull.

To her further surprise, Christopher leaned down, nearly hunching over her to rest his plated forehead to her sweaty, human one. For a few dumb seconds, she gazed somewhat cross-eyed up into his dark golden eyes. This close, she could smell him. Oliver's scent she had gotten used to over the past month or so. It was a musty, sweet and young sort of scent, much like a newborn puppy's. All children had a variation of that newborn, clean smell.

Christopher, however, was a full grown, healthy adult prawn and had a fuller, headier scent that was earthy and somewhat spiced. It wasn't a bad smell.

This was the closest to an adult alien she had ever gotten and for some crazy reason it didn't scare her. Made her shifty and anxious but not scared.

"Christopher?"

"I am merely displaying a show of affection," he rumbled lowly, his mouth tendrils almost touching her cheeks and lips. Izzie inhaled a bit shakily.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve it. For what you've done for my son and for me."

Frantically, Izzie had to try and remember the last time someone gave her affection than she deserved. She honestly couldn't remember the last time it had happened. And the fact that it was coming from someone of a different species in a dusty shack, made it a little odder. Of course, it wasn't that she had any racial discrimination against them; it was just something that had never occurred to her before.

Deciding that this wasn't really all that bad, Izzie grew brave in a way she hadn't in a long time and stepped a bit closer to him. Christopher's eyes widened in mild surprise and disappointment when she moved from his touch. Then her fleshy, human arms went gingerly about his lower ribs and her cheek rested on his chest softly. For prawns, this was generally a very intimate sort of embrace but he wasn't about to turn it away. It had been far too long since he'd been held by another adult.

"This is another form of human affection," Izzie informed his quietly as his spiked arms wound about her frailer form. It might've been her imagination but she thought she felt the rhythm of that alien name for her vibrating like a murmur.

She felt his prehensile arms shift and brush her in his nervousness as he hummed in understanding. Abruptly if not distantly, she wondered what it would feel like to have both sets of arms wrapped about her.

"Is this parental human affection?" Christopher inquired as dryly as possible.

"Um…its both. Its also a sign of friendship in many of our cultures," Izzie explained in an attempt to reason off her actions. Truth be told, she had always wanted to know what it felt like to hug an adult prawn. The children always just looked at her oddly with inane amounts of humor. This was nice; more than nice, it felt marvelously strange, forbidden and enthralling. His sheer size and strength in comparison to a human man's was amazing and comforting at once. Finally, the prawn released his hold and she backed away.

Suddenly feeling awkward and out of her element, Izzie scratched at the back of her neck and looked at her watch.

"Uh, so, yeah, we're doing meatloaf tomorrow night and I forgot to tell you that the overnight stays were approved so, um, don't forget your jammies, yeah? Okay," with that Izzie smiled too brightly, patted the confused prawn's shoulder and marched out.

Christopher stood there, wondering how she had become upset before he heard her outside.

"Lucas, will you stop kicking that goddamn can? What are you? Nine? Get in the truck."

"Alright, boss! Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"I'm gonna twist something, you bloody bastard."

And he chuckled that entertained warble that she was learning to hate him for.


End file.
